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Quinn's face flushed hot, and her heart began to race. But she was trapped at the dining table, her hands clutching a porcelain bowl, with nowhere to run.
The air instantly turned heavy and silent. Quinn bit her lip nervously, her pulse erratic.
Was he going to practice intimacy again?
While her mind spiraled into a chaotic mess, Raymond suddenly leaned in, his broad frame tilting toward her.
His long fingers slowly lifted, and his warm thumb gently brushed against the edge of her jawline.
The incredibly subtle touch sent a quiet shudder through Quinn's body, making her breath catch in her throat.
"You had a grain of rice on your face."
Under Quinn's panicked and bewildered gaze, he delivered the casual statement, straightened up, and turned away from the table.
If she had listened closely, she would have heard the faint, husky undertone in his voice.
Quinn blinked, her face burning even hotter.
She was so mortified she wanted to smack herself in the head. He hadn't been thinking anything inappropriate at all—what on earth had she been imagining and expecting?
If anyone was to blame, it was him for being too incredibly masculine! A tiny gesture from him was enough to drive someone crazy!
As Raymond walked to the sofa and sat down with his back to her, a faint, imperceptible smile rippled through his pitch-black eyes.
He pulled out his phone, casually opening a news site. His deep voice drifted smoothly across the short distance.
"There's a warm serving of sweet rice pudding in the pot. You can have some for dessert."
Quinn wanted to bury her face in her bowl. "Mhm. Thanks," she replied softly.
He hadn't really crossed any lines, but the lingering warmth on her jawline refused to fade. In the quiet room, an indescribable, tangled tension wrapped around them.
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